


to the moon and back

by queenliest (orphan_account)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, okay, shitty romance, soulmate au because i can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/queenliest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[soulmate au!] </p><p>the two of you are looking and searching for your respective soulmates. it is a failure, of course, for the both of you were never given a single clue, except for the tattoos written on your bodies. it is a long search, and the both of you have given up... until one day, the Fates have decided to play with your destiny again and let the two of you meet.</p><p> </p><p>  <b> [Reader/Michael Clifford] </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. to the moon...

based on [this ](http://michaelgordocliffordofficial.tumblr.com/post/103013389638/what-if-michael-is-looking-for-someone-to-complete)text post: _"what if michael is looking for someone to complete his “to the moon…” tattoo?"_

__

\- 

You were desperate to know about your other half. 

You were desperate to know that one person who was behind the tattoo on your wrist. You were desperate to know more about the person who was the only one who could complete the tattoo on your wrist; you were desperate to know the person who was behind the completion of the words written in permanent ink on your wrist. You were desperate to know that one person who had claimed your soul and your heart even before you were born, who had already made you his even before you had opened your eyes and seen the world. You were desperate to know more about the person who you were destined to be with, desperate to find out why the Fates had chosen the two of you to be together. 

You were so desperate to discover more about that person that you had done a lot of research over the years. You had used every single tool that you could ever find, visited almost every single one of those social media sites in order to find out more about him. But what good did it to you if you didn’t even know anything about him? 

You didn’t know his name, didn’t know where he was living, didn’t know where in the world he was even located. You didn’t know anything—not even a single thing—about him. You didn’t know how you were going to reach out to him, didn’t know how you’ll be able to cross paths with him. Worse of all, you didn’t even know whether he was alive or not. For all you knew, you could be waiting for no one already. 

And so you had started giving up… until that one night where a face of a very familiar man invaded your dreams and changed your mind. 

You had been dreaming. 

There wasn’t any sign or clue to know where you were. Everything was smoky and gray; everything was dark. There was an outline of a man, though you could only vaguely see the silhouetted figure. You stared at him, and felt your heart rate palpitate. The man looked familiar; the man felt familiar. It was as though you had known him before, had seen him before, even though the only thing you could see about him was his silhouette. You waited and waited, waited for the smoke to clear and for the face of the man to suddenly appear, but none of the things you had wished for happened. 

You felt hopelessness seep through your bones and waited for the dream to end. If the dream wouldn’t even give you any clue as to who your soulmate was, it might as well just end right now and stop to get your hopes up. But the dream didn’t end. The smoke swirling and covering the man slowly started to dissipate and evaporate. 

And so you waited again for a long time. 

But even with all the smoke gone, you couldn’t see the man’s face. The only thing you could clearly see was the tattoo inked on his wrist; the only thing you could see were the words written on his wrist in black ink. 

_To the moon…_

And then suddenly, the dream ended and you had woken up, panting and gasping for air. You had no idea why you were suddenly catching your breath, though. It wasn’t like you experienced a nightmare; it wasn’t like knowing what was written on your other half’s wrist bothered you. It wasn’t creepy at all; in fact, if you were going to be honest, the dream had left you feeling more hopeful than ever. 

And now, you had found yourself not being able to fall asleep again. 

You sighed and stood up from your bed, grabbing your laptop from where you had always placed it—on the study table that was placed metres away from your bed. 

You began your search again, starting from the basics of the basics. You had opened every single site you had ever known and started the search from there. You had searched for everything, using the data you had acquired from your dream. 

It was no use, though. 

You weren’t even able to discover the man’s name. You weren’t even to discover anything beyond the words you had seen in your dream. 

And so the search had proved to be a failure once more. 

\- 

You hadn’t given up that easily, though. But day by day, when you realized that you couldn’t even find out anything about the man, when you realized that your search was proving to be a failure, you could feel yourself slowly losing hope. Day by day, you could feel your hope that you had kept within yourself slowly combust into flames, leaving nothing but a trail of ashes and debris in its wake. 

And so you had stopped trying to figure everything about the man out, had stopped trying to search for him. You had given up now, and you allowed yourself to slowly forget about him altogether. 

Maybe your other half was out there, somewhere. Maybe he had already felt complete with someone who wasn’t you; maybe he had already found someone he loved and deemed the tattoo on his wrist worthless and unnecessary now. 

\- 

Okay, so maybe you weren’t able to forget about the man altogether. He was still in the back of your mind, sometimes haunting you and invading your dreams. You knew he was out there, somewhere, but you had already allowed your hope to die. And no matter how many times he appeared to invade your peaceful sleep, you were no longer doing anything to search for him. 

\- 

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was peeking out from the clouds, shining nice and bright. Its rays were casting bright lights all around you, making everything sunny and bright and clear. It was a nice day out; the weather was nice and it was not too sunny. It was a perfect day to go out and you had mentally patted yourself for picking the right day and the right time to go out and relax. 

You had been out and about, deciding to treat yourself with a cup of coffee and a movie. You had just finished going to the cinema, where you had watched and enjoyed an hour long horror flick. It was a corny film, though you had enjoyed the occasional scary bits and shocking parts packed into it, nonetheless. 

And so you headed toward the next part of you treat: the cup of coffee. 

You headed to the coffee shop nearest to your location and found yourself a seat by the window. You had ordered yourself a large cup of espresso. You had opted for latte, but the stupid part of your brain had blurted out the first word you had ever thought of. 

And so here you were, enjoying a nice but bitter cup of espresso. 

You stared at your surroundings. The coffee shop was packed with people, students and businessmen and women and just regular citizens enjoying the daily boost of caffeine being injected in their system. Most of the groups were huddling in a single table. The coffee shop was abuzz with all kinds of noises. There were chatter and laughter all around, though the sounds were being dominated by the occasional clinking of cups and utensils against each other. 

You had allowed yourself to be whisked away to the beauty of your surroundings, had allowed your breath to be hitched by the beauty that was happening in front of you. It was as though the neighbourhood you were in had decided to become friendly with each other; it was as though the neighbourhood you were in had suddenly gotten along with each other. 

The scene that you were staring at was more beautiful than the weather today, more beautiful than the rising of the sun during the mornings. It was a pleasant scene—one you wouldn’t mind to stare at each time you decided to go out. 

Just then, the door to the coffee shop opened, and the chimes began to ring, singing an unrecognizable melody and interrupting you out of your thoughts. 

You turned your head to look at the person who had just entered and felt your breath hitch in your throat. 

The man was handsome. The first thing you had noticed about him was his hair. It was a bright green, wonderful but obviously dyed. The green resembled the colours of the leaves in the spring, resembled the colours of the grasses during the summer. His hair was messy and ruffled; it looked as though it was purposefully done that way: untamed and unbridled. He was pale—his skin was milky white, as though he had never tried to go out. It was saddening that you were far away enough from him; it was saddening that you weren’t able to know what the colour of his eyes were. The next thing you had noticed was the clothes he was wearing. He wore a black sleeveless shirt, with a logo of a band you weren’t able to recognize right away. He wore a pair of black skinny jeans, and a pair of black Vans. 

If you were to conclude and summarize everything you had seen: the man was beautiful. 

The man began to saunter toward the counter. You had watched and observed the way he walked. He walked with a purpose, walked with a certain sense of style. He walked with swagger and confidence, as though he was sure of his place in the world. The man was lean. He didn’t like one for gyms and workouts and exercises, but you were pretty sure that under his shirt, he was hiding an awfully nice body. 

Oops. Why did you even think about that? You were not allowed to think about that. 

Anyway, he was beautiful in a unique kind of way. If you were to conclude, he was more beautiful than the scene you had been staring at just a while ago. He was more beautiful than the chatter and laughter combined; he was more beautiful than the sunshine and sunset happening all at once. He was more beautiful than anything you had ever seen. He was Adonis incarnate; he was beautiful and handsome. He was otherworldly; his beauty was cosmic and intergalactic, and you found yourself slowly being drawn toward him. 

He looked vaguely and achingly familiar, though, and the thought had made you disoriented. You were sure you had never seen him before, were sure that this was the first time you had ever encountered him. Yet… and yet your heart said that it wasn’t. You tried unravelling, tried digging through your memories to search for the man’s face. 

There wasn’t. 

You watched as he ordered something from the counter, watched as he grabbed his drink. You watched as he turned his head to look at his surroundings, watched as he tried to find an empty place for himself amidst all the occupied seats. He looked lost; he looked like he was a child trying to find for his mother. For a moment, the aura of swagger and confidence you had felt from him was gone. He looked lost, as though he had suddenly become unsure of his place in the world, as though he had suddenly forgotten his worth. 

You watched as he looked down on the floor dejectedly for a brief moment. He looked disappointed; he looked downcast, crestfallen, desponded. No matter how many words you used to describe his disappointment at the moment, it didn’t work. There was no word to describe how disappointed he had felt at the moment. He had failed to find a place for himself, and he had intended to leave. You didn’t know how you knew, didn’t know you had the inkling of idea of what he had felt. He was a stranger; he didn’t know who you were, and you had no idea who he was. 

He was about to leave; you watched as he started walking toward the door. His steps were a bit fast; your heart started beating faster. Bravery and courage rushed through you like adrenaline. Your heart was beating erratically; everything had suddenly become blurry. It was as though the only thing you were seeing was this man; it was as though the only thing you were thinking of were to stop him from leaving. 

You didn’t know what you were doing; you didn’t care whatever the consequences of the thing you were about to do. 

You stood up from your seat and opened your mouth to speak that certain word. 

“Wait!” 

You didn’t know whether the man had heard you, didn’t know whether he had know the word was intended for him, but he did turn around to face you, albeit slowly. 

“Me?” he asked, pointing at himself. 

“Yes,” you answered, your voice cool and calm collected, opposite of what you were currently feeling. 

He furrowed his eyebrows. You had found the notion too adorable, and had to stifle a girly giggle that threatened to escape your lips. “What?” 

And now, all the courage and valiancy had suddenly left your system, leaving you an awkward and stuttering mess. 

“I—I—um,” you began, stuttering over your words. You didn’t what had suddenly happened to the boost of confidence you had acquired just awhile ago, didn’t know what had suddenly happened to the shot of audacity that had travelled through your system just awhile ago. It had seemed that you had lost the both of them now, and you were back to your usual self—awkward and shy. And… you had no idea how to continue what you had started. 

“I—um…” you began again, but the words suddenly died in your throat. You were vaguely aware of the other customers staring at the two of you, amused and curious as to what you were going to do next. You felt uncomfortable under their stare, felt uneasy under their scrutiny. It felt as though they were judging you, and you had felt yourself slowly shrinking away, your dauntlessness already gone and dissipated like a cloud of smoke. 

“Hey,” the green-haired man said, earning your attention. He must have suddenly sensed your discomfort because not a sooner later he was in front of you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

You were suddenly snapped out of your reverie, and you looked up and found yourself staring at the most beautiful, most vibrant green eyes. Your breath was suddenly caught in your throat; it was if the atmosphere had become heated and intense, making it difficult for you to breathe. His eyes had reminded you of a thousand leaves in spring; it was beautiful and you had felt the beginnings of warmth and fuzziness slowly seep through you. You had felt the swarms of butterflies invading your stomach. You were lost in that emerald abyss; you were drowning in them. 

“Are you okay?” the man reiterated. You were snapped out of your thoughts once more. You nodded your head quickly, and shrank away from him. Your face was flushed; specks of scarlet decorating your cheeks. You looked down on the floor beneath you, ashamed to look at the man in front of you. He was making you feel like a teenage girl in love; he was making you act clumsy and awkward and dumb. 

“Well,” the man began, earning your attention once more. You looked up at him. You were no longer blushing. You were curious and intrigued as to what he was about to say. He took a deep breath before continuing, “You were about to say something, yes?” 

So he still weren’t able to forget that? Shit. You sure had gotten yourself into a huge mess. First, you had tried to stop the man from leaving. You were sure your loud voice had earned the attention of the hundreds of people who were in the same place as the both of you. Second, your voice and thoughts had suddenly stopped working for you. And third, you were a stuttering mess. You didn’t know how to get yourself out of this mess, didn’t know how to continue and own this mess. You didn’t know if you’ll ever succeed at whatever it was you were trying to do to stop him from leaving, but you knew that you had to try. 

“I…” you began once more. You took a deep breath, mustering all the courage and bravery that was left of you. “Um… if you don’t mind, would you like to take a seat with me?” 

He allowed the smallest of smiles to grace his lips. He had walked toward the empty seat across from yours, and seated himself on it. You had given yourself a moment to be amazed; you had allowed yourself a mental pat on the back. You had succeeded. This was it; you had really succeeded and stopped him from leaving! And so you sat back on your seat, and wallowed on your victory and success. 

“Thanks,” he said. He looked at you through his lashes, offering you a warm nice smile. 

Oh, wow. His voice definitely sounded nice. It was husky and deep, and it suited him well. You had found yourself wanting to hear it more; you had found yourself intrigued at what his laugh would have sounded like, had found yourself curious what his voice would have sounded like if you were— 

_Stop!_ You mentally berated yourself. You were not supposed to be thinking things like that. Heck, you weren’t even allowed to think of him that way. You barely even knew him—you didn’t even know his name! 

But anyway, his smile was the nicest thing you had ever seen. It was bright and sunny, just like the weather outside. His smile was more beautiful than a thousand sunrises, more beautiful than a thousand sunny weathers. It was brighter than the stars and the moon; it was brighter than the sun itself. It was like a combination of all three. His smile had sent fuzziness through you; his smile had sent something warm and happy through you. His smile had left you feeling giddy and merry. You had found yourself wanting to see it more, had found yourself wanting to gaze at it longer. 

“You’re welcome,” you said, your voice a breathy whisper. He really was a wonder for him to make you feel like this; he was extraordinary for leaving you breathless and a gooey puddle. You offered him a small smile. 

A brief moment of silence passed the both of you, before the man spoke again. 

“Thanks again,” he said. He sounded amused and intrigued at the same time, as though he couldn’t believe everything that had just happened. 

“No problem,” you said. You reached a hand out to grab your drink from the table. You took a long sip and wallowed in the bitterness of your drink. 

“So…” he began, trailing off and catching your attention. 

You looked up from your drink, offering him the briefest of glances to let him know that you were listening. 

But he didn’t say anything. 

He waited for you to finish sipping from your drink, waited for you to focus all of your attention onto him. 

And when you did, he continued his words. 

“I’m Michael,” he said, reaching a hand out for you to shake. His next words had come out a bit jumbled, as though he had exhaled everything he had been wanting to say in a rush. “And I don’t know your reason for inviting me to sit with you… and you look vaguely familiar, as though we have already seen each other before, even though I’m pretty sure we don’t. And it’s nice to meet you.” 

His words had somehow made sense; you had felt the same way when you first looked at him. You had felt the sense of familiarity between the two of you, had felt the tug of closeness between the two of you. It was as though you had known each for forever. You knew it was impossible; you knew this was the first time you had ever met, knew that this was the first encounter you ever had with him. 

“I’m **(Your Name)** ,” you said, reaching a hand out to shake his hand. You allowed yourself to slip out of your mouth. “I find you vaguely familiar. And I don’t know my reason as to why I invited you to sit with me. And it feels as though we’ve known each other for a long time. It is weird and everything feels weird, but it’s also nice to meet you.” 

When he stared at your eyes and smiled at you, you felt your heart racing. You felt your stomach doing backflips and other gymnastic techniques. You felt your heart threatening to spill out of your ribcage, felt your intestines melting into a puddle of goo. You felt your breath being caught in your throat. Your knees were feeling weak and you were briefly grateful that you were currently sitting down instead of standing up. It was as if every nerve endings in your body were dead; it felt as if every part of your body had suddenly started going weak. It felt as if you were a robot and all your system had suddenly started to malfunction. 

Suddenly, you were only ever aware of the two of you. It felt as though you couldn’t see anyone but him, couldn’t feel anyone’s presence except for his. He was making you feel wonders; he was leaving you feeling like a lovestruck teenager. 

And then he pulled his hand away from yours, and suddenly, everything was back to where it was. 

You were no longer in la-la land; you were no longer Alice and you were no longer in Wonderland. You were yourself once more, and you were no longer staring at his—Michael’s—vibrant green eyes. You were you once more, and you were back to where you were—in a coffee shop near the mall you had visited earlier. 

“So, **(Your Name)** ,” Michael said. He pronounced your name carefully, as though it was a secret he was supposed to keep, as though it was a treasure he was supposed to guard. It was beautiful, and you had found yourself being delighted at this. You were trying to suppress a giggle, and you’d mentally scolded yourself for acting like a teenage girl in love. “Tell me something about yourself.” 

You didn’t say anything. You began to think, began to contemplate. But Michael was distracting you with his little movements. You watched as Michael slowly raised his arms and grabbed the drink that he had placed in front of him on the table. And when he did, you had seen the words written with black ink on the side of his forearm. 

_To the moon…_

Your eyes widened, threatening to spill out of their sockets. Your jaw had dropped. You were surprised and shocked. A mixture of emotions washed over you. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel, didn’t know what emotion it was that you were supposed to be feeling. You didn’t know whether you were supposed to be relieved or surprised, didn’t know whether you were supposed to be amazed or excited. You were confused and disoriented; you were awash with emotions and feelings. You had found it hard to breathe, had found it hard to move. It was as though the emotions had left you paralyzed and unable to breathe. 

Michael, noticing your shocked expression, looked at you worriedly and voiced his concern. “Are you okay?” 

And then suddenly, you couldn’t find your voice. Suddenly, you had found it extremely difficult to speak. The thoughts were leaving you mute; your thoughts were rendering you wordless and speechless. 

After all, you couldn’t tell him that he was the one whom you had been searching for over the years, could you? 


	2. ... and back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what happens next when the both of you discover each other?
> 
> [told in michael's perspective]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if i shall make a third part on this, seeing as it's already done and the problem is already solved. 
> 
> but if you want me to make a third part, feel free to let me know! :)

based on this [text](http://michaelgordocliffordofficial.tumblr.com/post/103013389638/what-if-michael-is-looking-for-someone-to-complete) post: _"what if michael is looking for someone to complete his “to the moon…” tattoo?"_

>

* * *

Michael was desperate. 

He was desperate and curious; he was desperate and intrigued. He was desperate to discover who his soulmate was. He was desperate to know more about that certain person who had already made claims on him even before he had first opened his eyes. He was desperate to know more about the person who had already took ownership of his heart and soul even before his heart had first started beating. He was desperate to know more about the person who had already made him his even before he had first seen the world. He was desperate to know more about the person who held the other half of his soul, desperate to know more about the person who held the continuation of the words written on the side of his forearm. He was desperate to discover more about the person who held the key to the completion of the words permanently etched onto his arm, desperate to discover more about the person who held the key to the completion of his heart and soul. He was desperate to discover more about the person whom the Fates had decided to pair him with, desperate to discover more about the person whom the Fates had decided to plan them with. He was desperate to discover more about the person he was destined to be with; he was desperate to know more about the person whom his soul was destined to be with together. He was desperate to find out more about the person whom he was meant to live his life with for the next one hundred years or so; he was desperate to discover more about the person he was destined to spend his life with for the next one thousand years or so. He was desperate to know more about the person whom he was meant to be with now and forever. He was desperate to discover more about the person whom he was supposed cherish and treasure for a long, long time, the person whom he was to treasure and cherish for the eternity. 

He was so desperate to know more about that certain person that he had done a lot of research. He had started with the basics; he had started guessing out the person’s name, had tried guessing where the person had lived. He had also tried guessing the person’s identity by trying out and visiting every known and unknown social media sites. He had visited every single site he could get his hands and mind on, had tried asking every detail he could think of in order to discover who that person was. For years, he had focused on his research, had focused in trying to find out everything he could. For years, he concentrated on guessing every single detail about his soulmate. But sadly, none of the researches he had made through the years bore any fruit of successes. Every single one of his research had proved to be a failure. 

And so, he had told himself to give up. He had told himself to start giving up; he had told himself that what he had been doing for the past few years were unnecessary and ridiculous. He had told himself not to bother doing anything anymore, had told himself that maybe it wasn’t meant to be. He’d told himself that maybe he was not meant to be complete, had told himself that maybe he wasn’t supposed to find his other half. He’d told himself to not think about everything, had told himself to just forget every single little thing about his other half. 

It wasn’t that hard to do. After all, it was just easy to forget someone you hadn’t even met. After all, it was just easy to forget about someone whose name you didn’t even know, whose identity you didn’t even know. It was easy to forget about someone whom you didn’t think existed in the first place. 

Everything had been going well. He didn’t think about the person anymore; he’d forgotten all about him. 

Until that night, where a dream invaded the tranquillity and serenity he had been feeling in his sleep. 

He had been dreaming. 

That was what he guessed, and his guess had been right. He was dreaming. His room wasn’t similar to this place; his room didn’t give off this kind of feel and aura. Also, his room didn’t look like the top of a mountain. 

Michael had tried to shake himself awake, had tried to wake himself up from the dream. 

But he couldn’t. It felt like his body was glued to his bed, felt like he was being glued to wherever the dream had sent him. He felt as though his limbs had been frozen into place; he felt as though he couldn’t move any part of his body. His body felt heavy, as though all of his limbs had weighed more than a thousand pounds. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t walk; he couldn’t raise his arms or his hands. He was stuck. The only thing he could have done was to wait for the dream to end; the only thing he could have done was to wait for the dream to finish. 

And wait was what he did. 

The dream had started moving. Michael had a vague idea of where he was. He was standing atop a high mountain that overlooked the world below him, though the view was very little and minute for Michael to clearly see. Clouds hovered above him, moving at a fast pace. The wind was cool and chilly, and though Michael had known he was dreaming, he still couldn’t help feeling the chill and the coldness of the wind. The wind had blown cool air all around him, whooshing and swaying, dancing and rejoicing—which Michael could definitely hear—making him almost shiver in his thin white shirt and black pair of thin pyjamas. 

The dream shifted. He was still standing on top of the mountain, but the dream had begun showing blurry images that Michael couldn’t quite see even if he tried. The dream began showing blurry images of things that Michael couldn’t recognize even if he had tried to look at them from up close. Swirls of white smoke moved around and around, coating everything in pallid fog and ivory mist. The white smoke had also clouded Michael’s vision, making it difficult for him to see his surroundings very clearly. 

And then suddenly, everything went white. 

Michael had internally panicked, had been alarmed. He was drowning in a pallid abyss, drowning in a sea of ivory and no one was there to help him. He still weren’t able to move his arms and legs; he still couldn’t move his body. He could feel his heart racing against his chest. The sound had drowned out almost every sound that existed. He could no longer hear the sound of the wind blowing, could no longer hear the sound of everything. He could feel his palms getting sweaty, though he couldn’t anything to move them. Michael could feel himself panicking, could feel his breath being restricted into his lungs. It felt as though a ten ton brick had dropped itself into his lungs, crushing them, making it difficult for him to take even a single breath. 

Michael could feel himself drowning in a sea of white, and he didn’t know how to swim. He could feel himself being sucked into a pallid vortex and he didn’t know where to hold on. 

And then suddenly, the dream shifted once more. 

He was in a large room, alone and running toward something. The room had white walls and white marble floors, and Michael’s bare foot was creating a heavy slapping sound whenever he was running. He didn’t know why he was running, didn’t know what he was running for. He didn’t know what he was chasing, didn’t know the reason as to whatever it was he was doing. All he could feel was the whooshing of the breath in his lungs. He wasn’t tired, even though he was endlessly running. He didn’t feel any least bit exhausted, even though he had been chasing that certain something for almost forever now. 

Michael didn’t know what he was running for, and yet he continued to run anyway. He didn’t know what he was chasing, and yet he continued to chase it anyway. 

The dream shifted again, and suddenly, Michael found himself standing in a dimly lit room, staring at something. The room was dark and the only thing that illuminated the area was the moonlight from streaming from the large window. It was too dark for Michael to observe and notice his surroundings. Black smoke filled the air, swirling and hovering above everything and enveloping everything in black smoke. 

Michael waited for a moment; he waited for the smoke to clear, waited to see where the dream would lead him. 

The smoke began to dissipate, moving away as though a wind had blown them toward another direction. His surroundings had begun to clear, but it was still impossible for Michael to see his surroundings clearly, with the solid darkness enveloping the room. 

When all the smoke had truly cleared, Michael had found himself staring at an outline of a woman. 

He felt his breath hitch in his throat. He didn’t know why, but in his mind and heart, he sensed that the woman was familiar. Just by looking at her silhouette, Michael had felt as though he had known her forever. Just by staring at her silhouette, Michael had felt as though he had found everything he’d needed over the years. He could feel that this woman was his soulmate, could sense that he was the one he was looking for over the years. He could feel his heart beating rapidly against his sternum, but it was beating quickly for a good cause. His stomach was doing backflips; every nerve ending in his body had felt excited. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach. Excitement and giddiness had travelled quickly through his system. Every single nerve inside his body was working in overdrive. 

Michael had waited for the light of the moon to illuminate the features of the woman, had waited for the light of the moon to do its wonders. He had waited for the light of the moon to shift and illuminate the face of the woman like a spotlight. 

But it didn’t. 

The moon had remained where it was, and its light had begun to touch everything but the silhouette. The room had begun to become bright, though it wasn’t bright enough to be considered too much. The moon’s light had touched everything and anything that came across its way, though the silhouette was an exception. It had felt as though the silhouette was the only darkness the light couldn’t reach, felt as though the silhouette was the only manifestation of an evil that the goodness and kindness couldn’t reach. Michael had slowly felt the beginnings of disappointment travel to him, killing all the excitement and delight he had initially felt upon seeing the woman’s silhouette. 

Michael waited for the dream to end. He waited for the dream to finish and for him to be transported back into reality; he waited to feel that slow beginnings of oblivions. He waited for the slow feelings of calmness and serenity to wash over him, waited for the feel of tranquillity to blanket him. 

If there wasn’t any detail that he could use in finding his soulmate, what good was his dream? If the dream wouldn’t even show him anything useful, why did it even invade his peacefulness at all? If the dream had decided to appear only to remind him how he couldn’t reach out to the one who held the other half of his soul, why did the Fates even bother to show it to him? If the dream’s purpose was to remind of how he would never be able to find his other half, then why show itself at all? Why did it even invade his dreams if its only purpose was to make him feel disappointed? Why did it invade his peace when its only purpose was to send his hopes up and crush it down with one quick snap? Why did it even invade at all if its only purpose was to make him feel more hopeless than ever? Why? 

Michael had felt genuinely disappointed; he’d felt as though his hopes had been crushed. He had been given a vision of the woman he was meant to be with, only to remind him of how he would never be able to meet her. It was unfair, and Michael had felt the beginnings of dismay settle on his nerves. 

Michael waited. 

And waited. 

He waited for the dream to end, waited for the woman’s silhouette to disappear. 

But it didn’t. 

Black smoke began to appear once more, swirling and dancing, enveloping the silhouette and blanketing it in its arms. The silhouette was slowly being swallowed by the smoke; it was slowly drowning in an ocean of darkness. The silhouette was slowly disappearing. 

And all of a sudden, the smoke cleared again and words began to appear on the woman’s wrist. The words were written in white substance—Michael couldn’t be sure what those substances were, and he didn’t think he’d probably want to know—in contrast to the woman’s black outline. Michael could see the words written on the woman’s wrist; Michael could see the tattoo permanently written in ink on the woman’s wrist. 

_…And back_

Michael had stared at it for a few seconds, willing for it to stay and committing it to his memory. He stared and stared at the words beautifully scrawled on the woman’s wrist. It was the continuation of the words written on his wrist, and Michael had felt the beginnings of hope blooming inside his chest. 

And then suddenly the smoke swirled faster this time. It enveloped the silhouette quickly, and the silhouette disappeared faster than Michael could blink. 

And then everything went black, and the dream ended. 

Michael had found himself opening his eyes, panting and gasping and trying to catch his breath. It wasn’t as though Michael had experienced a nightmare, so he had briefly wondered why he had been trying to catch his breath. It wasn’t like the dream had left him frightened or terrified; it wasn’t like the dream had turned out horrible in the end. In fact, if Michael were to state the honest truth, the dream had left him feeling pretty much hopeful. 

He had no idea if the prospect of being able to his soulmate had caught up to him; had no idea if the idea of seeing his soulmate had caught up to his reality. But Michael had quickly discarded the thought; he had more hours of sleep to catch up on to right now. 

Michael wasn’t able to get anymore sleep that night, though. The words kept replaying and replaying on his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the silhouette of the woman, couldn’t sleep without seeing the words written on the woman’s wrist at the back of his vision. He couldn’t sleep without his mind whispering ideas to him, telling him about his newfound hope and plan. 

And so he had given up trying to get some sleep that night. 

He sighed and ran a hand through his already messy red hair before standing up from his bed and heading to his computer. He had begun his search again. He started from the basics of the basics; he started from scratch, started from square one. He had used every resources he had known, had used every references he could get his hands on. He had tried to find out the woman’s name, had tried to find out where the woman had lived. He had tried to find out and have a clue as to what the woman might have looked like, had tried to find out as to where he could see her. But all that came out of his research was an empty detail. He was never able to discover the woman’s name, was never able to discover the woman’s address; he had never gotten an inkling or clue as to what the woman’s appearance might have looked like. He had come up empty handed. 

And alas, his research had proved to be a failure once more. 

If Michael were to blame someone, it would be himself. He had gotten his hopes faster than a lightning could appear in a stormy sky. He had his hopes up as soon as he had seen the words tattooed on the woman’s wrist, had gotten his hopes as soon as he discovered what words were inked permanently on her skin. It was his own fault, and he had no one but himself to blame. 

How could he think that a vision of words and tattoo would lead him somewhere? How could he think a vision of a silhouette would lead him toward her? 

\- 

But Michael’s soul wasn’t that easy to crush. He had continued his search, starting from the basics and proceeding from there. But day by day, he could feel his hopes being crushed. He could slowly feel the hopefulness he had initially felt upon having the dream slowly dwindling down, could feel the hopefulness he had initially felt slowly turn into hopelessness. His hope was slowly being crushed under the foot of a thirty-ton weight of a failure. His hope was being killed, stabbed into its chest until there was nothing but blood and a rotting corpse to tell himself his hope had still existed. 

And so, Michael had slowly allowed himself to give up. He had realized that there was no use searching for his soulmate now when the entire thing he knew about her were the words written on her wrist. He had realized that there was no use searching for the woman now when all that he had known about her was her tattoo. If that were the only things he knew about her, he might just as well give up. 

And so he did, day by day. He had slowly allowed himself to give up, slowly allowed himself to surrender. He had slowly allowed himself to forget her, had slowly allowed himself to stop thinking all about her. He had slowly forgotten everything about her, had slowly forgotten all about her together. 

\- 

Maybe she was out there, somewhere, laughing and smiling and just generally enjoying her life. Maybe she was out there not having a care in the world. Maybe she was out there, somewhere, experiencing every single and beautiful thing she could’ve imagined. Maybe she was out there, somewhere, not giving a fuck about her soulmate because she had someone else to rely on and love deeply. Maybe she was out there, somewhere, not giving a fuck about him, even when he was doing the total opposite. Maybe she was out there, somewhere, and Michael was slowly allowing himself to forget about her. 

\- 

Okay, forgetting about his soulmate had been a total lie. It wasn’t like he could just suddenly forget about her even if he tried. And it wasn’t like she was allowing him to forget him, either. He couldn’t try and forget her when most of the time, she haunted him and kept on appearing in his dreams. He couldn’t try and forget her when she kept invading his peace and showing herself in his dreams. Still, the visions he had been seeing were not enough to convince him to try and search for her once more. He knew she was out there, somewhere, but he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself and allow the dreams to get his hopes back up. He knew she was out there, somewhere, but he wasn’t going to do anything now. He would just leave it be, just like what he had sworn to do in the first place. 

And that was what exactly he did. 

\- 

Michael had wanted a break from his exams. 

He had just finished taking his exams, and all he wanted to do was to watch a movie and drink a coffee. He didn’t know what had made him decide to do all those, but hey, he was punk rock and he could do whatever he wanted. 

And which was why Michael had found himself watching an obviously overrated horror film that wasn’t even the least bit scary. Sure, the plot of the movie was awesome and the characters were well played, but Michael was pretty sure the story could have benefited more as a thriller film. The gross parts weren’t even that gross, and the sound effects were totally unsurprising. If Michael were to be honest, he was pissed. He had just wasted almost twenty bucks seeing a movie that wasn’t totally even worth it. 

When Michael had gotten out of the cinema, the sun was bright and scorching. Okay, so maybe the sun was bright but not scorching. The sky above was blue and almost empty with swirling clouds. The sun casted bright rays from all around it; it casted light toward Michael’s surroundings, illuminating and warming everything it touched. It was a nice weather outside, and Michael had had a brief moment feeling proud of himself for choosing the right day and the right time to go out. 

And so Michael had begun to head toward the next part of his reward: the coffee shop. 

\- 

As soon as Michael had stepped foot inside the coffee shop, he had already sensed that the coffee shop was packed. He could see groups of people packed and huddling together on a single table. He could hear the noises being loudly emitted by the customers and staff. He could hear the sound of chatter and laughter colouring and decorating the shop’s silence. He could hear the sound of cups clinking against one another, could hear a thousand different noises all at once. He had briefly scanned his surroundings for a bit, his eyes landing on the woman sitting on a table by the window—you. 

You were the most beautiful woman he had seen in the entirety of his existence. The first thing he had notice about you was your hair. Your hair was the most beautiful shade of colour he had ever seen. The sun illuminating your hair had heightened its colour, giving it a shade of unnatural hue. Your hair was properly styled, as though you had spent hours trying to comb it and tame it. You had clipped a large purple butterfly pin on the side of your hair and Michael had found it adorable and befitting for you. Your skin looked as though the sun and the snow had kissed it. You were not too pale and not too tan; you looked as though you had an average amount of time outside. You looked as though you were not afraid to be scorched by the sun’s warm rays. Michael had felt a brief disappointment crash through him. You were too far away for him to know what the colours of your eyes were, and it was saddening that probably wouldn’t have the nerve to walk up toward you and stare at your eyes. But Michael could sense that they were beautiful; he could sense that as soon as he saw them, he’d think it was the most beautiful shade of colour he had ever seen. 

The next things he had noticed about you were the clothes you were wearing. You had an awfully unique and stylish sense of fashion; you were wearing a black tank top, with a plaid wrapped around your waist. You had worn a pair of white high waisted shorts, showing off your unbelievably beautiful legs. You had also chosen to wear a pair of black knee-length stiletto boots that had suited you very well. 

In all honesty, if Michael were to conclude: you looked unbelievably hot and sexy in your clothes. You were beautiful and you didn’t even need to try hard to look adorable. You were giving off this certain aura that had him instantly drawn to you; you were giving off this look that had him instantly attracted to you. You were Aphrodite incarnate; you were the modern version of Helen of Troy. Your beauty had instantly bewitched him; your beauty had him wrapped around your finger. 

But you looked achingly familiar to him, though. It looked as though he had seen you more than once in his life. Your features had sent chills running down his spine; your face had felt familiar, as though he had known you before. He didn’t know if his mind was just playing tricks on him; he was pretty sure this was the first time he had seen you. He was pretty sure this was the first time he had encountered your beautiful face; he was certain that this was the first time you had ever encountered each other. And yet… and yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had known you from somewhere. 

Michael had tried to wrack his brain for memories. He had tried to wrack his brain and search for something that he could associate with you. He had tried to search for your face in his memories from somewhere and sometime, but he came up with nothing. 

_No,_ Michael shook himself out of his thoughts. Maybe him knowing you from somewhere was just a figment of his imagination. It was impossible to happen; you were too beautiful for your own good. You were too beautiful for you to even notice him. 

As Michael sauntered toward the counter, he was vaguely aware of you staring at him. A thousand different thoughts had travelled through his mind. He was worried and frightened. What if you were making fun of him inside your mind now? What if you were already laughing at the way he walked? He had known he wasn’t the most attractive person in the whole world, had known that he didn’t look or act as though he was modelling for a runway show. 

But wait. Why was he even nervous? It wasn’t like he knew you. Okay, so maybe he had become attracted to you as soon as he laid eyes on you, but you were still a stranger to him. You didn’t know him; he didn’t know you. What was even there for him to nervous about? 

_Her,_ a small part of his brain argued. You were making him feel nervous and you weren’t even standing up from your seat! He could— 

“Hello, sir!” A woman’s voice had interrupted him out of his thoughts. Michael had let his gaze travel from the board where a selection of food and drinks were written to the twenty-something woman smiling at him. “May I take your order?” 

His gaze moved to read the name written on her nametag. _Maria._

Maria had a long black hair tied back into a ponytail. She had a pair of warm coffee brown eyes that seemed to fit her small face. She looked kind and pretty, and if Michael hadn’t instantly fallen head over heels for the woman sitting by the window, he might have found himself asking Maria out. 

“Sir?” Maria asked again, waving a hand in front of his face. “Your orders?” 

“Uh,” Michael said, handing the woman his payment. “Caramel Macchiato.” 

Maria had proceeded to take his payment and hand him his change with a warm smile on her face. She had proceeded to get his coffee done as well and handed it to him with her smile still intact and in place. 

Michael turned around and observed his surroundings more intently as soon as he received coffee. He was trying to find an empty seat for himself amidst all the occupied ones. He was trying to find a place for himself so that he could stare at the woman—you—longer. He had found himself wanting to stare at you for a little while longer and he couldn’t let his opportunity pass up. It wasn’t as though he was always finding someone whom he was instantly attracted with. And besides, the way you were making him feel was different from the way other girls had made him feel. 

You were making him feel different, unique; you were making him feel alive and alert, as though he had seen the sunshine and sunset happening all at once. Looking at you had made butterflies swarm in his stomach; staring at you had made his heart beat erratically. Looking at you had made him feel breathless, as though he had just run from a ten-hour marathon with no stopping. It felt as though you were the one who had taken his breath away from his lungs and kept it within you. 

He had wanted to stare at you for a little while longer, had wanted to stare at you so that he could commit your face into his features. He had wanted to stare at you just so he could memorize and remember every contours of your features, every angle, every curve. You were so beautiful that he had wanted to remember and memorize every single part of you, even if it took him an entire day to do so. 

But alas, he couldn’t find a place for himself. 

Maybe he was meant to give everything up; maybe he was meant to give this love all up. 

He looked down on the floor dejectedly, disappointment and sadness coursing through him. He was downcast, crestfallen; he was feeling a little too despondent. This was his only chance at pursuing his love, but once again, the Fates had decided to interrupt him once more. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up his only chance of staring at you, but it clearly seemed as though everything wasn’t meant to be. 

He slowly dragged his steps toward the door, reluctant to leave. There was a little hope blooming inside him. He waited for a miracle to happen, waited for the Fates to change their mind. 

They didn’t. 

And so he walked more quickly now, no longer dragging his feet toward the door. 

He was just about to push the handle of the door open when he heard a sudden female voice cry out. 

“Wait!” 

Michael felt himself slowly turn around. He saw the face of the girl he had been admiring from afar just a few seconds ago. You were standing from your seat—he had guessed that you were the one who had just yelled that certain single word that made everything freeze—staring at him with a fire in your eyes that he could not explain. There was a certain determination and power in your voice, and Michael had found himself being drawn to you even more. 

He briefly scanned his surroundings, aware of the few people staring at the two of you, before using a finger to point at himself. “Me?” 

“Yes,” you answered. Your voice had sounded cool and calm; you sounded like an angry person who was trying to keep his cool within himself. 

Michael furrowed his eyebrows, curious as to what you might have wanted to do with him. “What?” 

He saw something twitch in your expression; you looked as though you had been trying hard to stifle a giggle. Michael had decided that you looked too adorable trying to do that, and he almost had to suppress a smile threatening to form on his lips. 

And then suddenly, you were a stuttering mess. 

“I—I—um,” you began, stuttering over your words. You looked as though you didn’t know what to say; you looked as though you had forgotten whatever it was you were about to say. It felt as though the sudden boost confidence you had in your system just a while ago had suddenly burst into ashes, leaving you an awkward and embarrassed mess. 

“I—um…” you began again, but it looked as though you really didn’t know what to say. He had seen a look of panic flash across your face and in an instant, he walked toward your direction, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” Michael said, earning your attention. Your gaze was out of focus, and he watched as his words slowly dawned on you. He watched as you slowly turned your head to look at him, watched as your focus shifted on him before asking you. “Are you okay?” 

He watched as you slowly nodded your head; you were still in a daze. You looked as though you were slightly out of focus, though your gaze was glued to him. He felt exposed and naked under your gaze, felt bare under your scrutiny. Sure, you might have had the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. Sure, your eyes were the most vibrant pair of hue he had ever seen, but that still didn’t stop him from feeling nervous. You looked as though you staring deep into his soul and not just his eyes. You looked as though you were picking his pieces one by one and staring at them and judging. 

And he had to snap you out of this. It wasn’t that you were making him uncomfortable; it was just that you were making him feel naked and exposed and nervous. 

“Are you okay?” he repeated again. He watched as you had slowly come to your senses, watched as you had slowly come in contact with reality. He watched as you quickly nodded your head, watched as a slight shade of red began to decorate your cheeks. He watched as you turn your head to look away from him, watched as you tried your best to hide your blush. He had found it too cute and he had to suppress a giggle and chuckle at how cute you were being. 

He let a moment pass before he began to speak, interrupting the silence that overcame the two of you. 

“Well,” he said. He watched as you turned your head back up to look at him. You looked cute; you had an expression one of curiosity in your face. He took a deep breath before continuing, “You were about to say something, yes?” 

He watched as you began to lose your focus once more. You seemed to be contemplating about his words, seemed to be contemplating as to what you were about to say. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed, watched as your forehead creased slightly. You seemed to be in deep thought. 

“I…” you began. He watched as you took a deep breath before you continued where you had left off. “Um… if you don’t mind, would you like to take a seat with me?” 

He had allowed the smallest of smiles to tug at the corners of his lips. He had walked toward the empty seat across from yours, and seated himself on it. He watched as you walked back toward your seat, watched as you took a seat. 

Inside, his stomach was doing backflips. He was feeling too excited; he was feeling too elated. He felt as though he had just won billions of awards, felt as though he had just helped thousands of people. He had finally gotten to sit—with you, no less! He was nervous and excited at the same time. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking at you with a warm smile on his face. Inside though, he was panicking. He had no idea what to say, really. It just seemed natural to say thank you when someone had done you a favour, but had Michael done it right? What if you were looking for more than a simple ‘thanks’? 

“You’re welcome,” you said, your voice breathy and soft. Wow. Your voice sounded nice. He wanted to ask if you naturally sounded like that, but was afraid that it was too weird. Asking that probably didn’t seem like the greatest conversation starter. You might probably freak out if he decided to ask that. 

He allowed a small moment to pass before he spoke again. 

“Thanks again,” he said. If he were to replay the events on his mind, he couldn’t believe everything that had happened. 

“No problem,” you said again. He watched as he reached a hand out to grab your drink from the table. 

“So,” he began, trailing off and watching you. 

As he watched you, he began to feel the spark of familiarity between the two of you once more. It was nagging at him again, making him feel as though he had known you for quite some time. But he didn’t. He knew as well as you do that this was your first encounter with each other. 

He watched as you took a long sip from your drink. Judging from the expression on your face he guessed that you were drinking something bitter—either an espresso or a variant of tea. He watched as you placed your drink back on the table. 

“I’m Michael,” he said, reaching a hand out for you to shake. His next words had come out a bit jumbled, as though he had exhaled everything he had been wanting to say in a rush. And he was rushing. He was afraid that everything he was about to say next would freak you out. “And I don’t know your reason for inviting me to sit with you… and you look vaguely familiar, as though we have already seen each other before, even though I’m pretty sure we don’t. And it’s nice to meet you.” 

He watched as you slowly let his words sink into your mind. He watched as you began to think again. 

“I’m **(Your Name)** ,” you said, reaching a hand out to shake his hand. “I find you vaguely familiar. And I don’t know my reason as to why I invited you to sit with me. And it feels as though we’ve known each other for a long time. It is weird and everything feels weird, but it’s also nice to meet you.” 

He allowed the warmest smile to make its way onto his lips. The feel of your hands on his had sent electricity jolting through his body. The feel of your gaze on his face had made him feel wonders he hadn’t known existed. He could feel his heart racing as you stared at him; he could feel himself getting lost into the wonders that were your eyes; he felt himself drowning in them. Warmth and fuzziness had travelled through him quicker than he could blink. He felt as though his heart was going to burst out of his ribcage, felt his lungs being restricted. He felt happiness and joy seeping through his bones, felt them coating his nerves. His parts were being driven into overdrive; his nerves felt like they were melting. 

Suddenly, he was only aware of the two of you. It felt like all of the other people didn’t exist. Suddenly, only the two of you were the ones who existed. He could only see you; he was only ever aware of your presence. It felt as though the only one he could notice was you. You were making him feel different; you were making the butterflies in his stomach drown into a puddle. You were making him feel weak and powerless and you weren’t even aware that you were doing it. 

He could feel his palms getting sweaty and clammy, and suddenly, he had to pull his hand away from yours. 

It was too bad; he had wanted to hold your hand for a bit longer. He had wanted to hold your hand for a while longer, had wanted to hold your hand until everyone had left and there wasn’t anyone on the room except for the two of you. He had wanted to hold your hand for as long as he could sleep, had wanted to hold your hand even after he had woken up. 

“So, **(Your Name)** ,” Michael said. He pronounced your name carefully. He pronounced your name as though it was a secret he was supposed to keep; he pronounced your name as though it was a treasure he was supposed to guard at all times. He pronounced your name as though it was the most beautiful word in the world. And in a way, it was. “Tell me something about yourself.” 

Michael had slowly raised his arms to grab his drink from the table. He was vaguely aware of your attention being focused on him as he had sipped on his drink. He was vaguely aware of the words on the side of his forearm showing, was vaguely aware of his tattoo showing. 

He looked up from his drink to see you gaping at him. Your eyes were wide, as though they were threatening to spill out of their sockets. Your jaw was hung open , as though you had seen the most surprising thing in the world. 

He placed his drink back on the table and looked at you, his expression one of concern. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. He was worried for you. What had you seen? Did you see something you didn’t like? 

He had watched as you had stayed motionless from your seat for a few seconds. You looked shell-shocked; your face had suddenly turned pale. 

“Are you okay?” he repeated, waving a hand on your face. 

He watched as you blinked a few times, trying to snap yourself out of your thoughts. He had watched as you had tried to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. 

And then you slowly raised your hands and placed them on top of the table. He watched as you used a finger to point at something on your wrist. 

He let his gaze travel to your wrist, let his gaze travel to the words written on your wrist. 

_…And back_

And suddenly, Michael was the one who was shell-shocked. He was the one who was widening his eyes; he was the one who had his jaw hung open. He was the one who had his mouth agape. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, felt like it was impossible for him to breathe. He felt words dying on his throat, felt his voice refusing to work. Mixtures of emotions had run through him. He was confused and disoriented; he was baffled and puzzled. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. 

You didn’t say anything, though. You just watched him. You watched his reactions all throughout a whole minute. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening; he couldn’t believe his soulmate was finally sitting in front of him. It was unbelievable, and he didn’t know whether he was supposed to feel surprise or relief. 

He needed a moment, and he was glad that you weren’t interrupting him. He needed to take deep calming breaths. 

And that was what he did. 

When he was finally able to calm himself, he looked up at you. You looked at him with no judgment in your eyes, you looked at him as though you were just patiently awaiting his next action. You were serious; you looked no longer shocked at the sequence of events that had just transpired. 

And then spoke, his voice full of wonder and amazement at everything that had happened. 

“Is it really you?” 

He watched as a slow but unsure smile made its way onto your lips. 

“Yes.” 

It didn't sound like a statement--you sounded too unsure for it to be considered one--but for Michael, it was enough. 

\- 


End file.
